


What Becomes of Us

by katamarii



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Character Study, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Unreliable Narrator, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katamarii/pseuds/katamarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But as it is with stories, they never truly end; each turn of a page will lead him to another story, lead him to discover and rediscover – and Kiku continues to smile.”</p>
<p>Written for the Giripan Winter Exchange. Prompt was Greece and Japan meet in secret during WWII despite the two being on opposing sides of the war. Warnings: Use of human and nation names, possible historical inaccuracies at some points, allusions, implied sex but nothing graphic. Companion fic to <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/370552">Bells of Nagasaki</a></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Becomes of Us

~.*.~

  
“We have resolved to endure the unendurable  
and suffer what is insufferable.”

**_–Hirohito–_  
**   


**i.**

  
It is here that he always finds himself.

  
He surveys the Greek landscape carefully before him, his gaze clouded with unspoken thoughts.

  
German forces have occupied most of the territory by now, their presence stark against what was once a sleepy, quiet coastal city – mud-streaked tanks trawling mechanically past battered buildings, and torn, ragged flags billowing in the wind; the hollow stares of the people from the streets and from the back of alleys, coupled with the overbearing sense of distrust, fear and hatred coalesced together and lingering in the air like smog.

  
Japan starts when he feels a hand clapping over his shoulder and he turns.

  
Veneziano does not smile –or at least he hasn’t smiled so widely like how he used to since a while now. Japan thinks he looks as if he wants to apologize for something, looks a little guilty even.

  
“ _Ciao_ , Japan,” Veneziano greets him with a fervent hug, even if there is less spring in his gait now, even if his eyes are now dull. There is still the warmth of comradeship in that gesture, and for that, Japan is grateful.

  
“What brings you all the way to Europe?” Veneziano asks, once Japan politely pulls free from the tight embrace, straightening his lapels.

  
"I had thought the meeting was important."

 

"Ve, but Japan is quite busy with... with other things as well, right?"

 

Kiku does not answer. He doesn't think Veneziano needs one at the moment, and from the way the other man is studying him now, he thinks that perhaps Veneziano isn't always bad at reading what was usually left unsaid.

 

Japan keeps his gaze trained ahead of him, unable, unwilling to meet those eyes. They watch on silently as soldiers march past in single file.

  
~.*.~

  
**ii.**

  
He has never been one for crude expressions, nor for articulate speeches. His feelings, he hides them, puts them aside for more important things – things like treaties and alliances, things like honour and pride. There is no room for feelings during these times; emotions, they cloud judgment and shadow reason, do they not?

  
There is no room for feelings – _you must be strong and merciless, like how Nippon is meant to be, like the samurai of old –_ so Japan hides behind the mask of aloofness, always polite and never forefront.

  
Hiding behind a mask. The tengu’s. The kitsune’s.

  
_The_ gaikokujin _, the Western beasts, Nippon will fight them and punish them for their arrogance –_

  
Like the tengu, Slayer of Vanity.

  
_The world under one roof, Nippon will lead and free them all, brother and sister nations –_

  
Like the fox, the Trickster. 

  
Japan feels a sour taste rising in the back of his mouth. There is a soft brush of fur against his hand, and he is broken out of his reverie. He shakes his head, shakes to dispel those thoughts, those voices and looks down instead to the calico cat batting away at the grass stalks by his knee. He smiles as he strokes her softly upon the head.

  
Beside him, sitting cross-legged upon the grass, Greece watches the cat nuzzle and purr affectionately like a tiny engine.

  
“She misses you,” he says, a faint smile tracing his lips.

  
“Even when you’re always with her?”

  
A shrug, and then– “She has her favourites.”

  
Greece is prone to saying things like that, to stating things as they _are_ , matter-of-factly. His bluntness sometimes unnerves Japan – he is unused to being too open with his opinions, lest they be frowned upon. Besides, as his leaders so often tell him, the military knows what’s best for their people, knows how their nation _should_ be.

  
So Japan keeps his thoughts to himself, because his leaders know what’s best for his people (and _he_ doesn’t, the people don’t) and Japan simply does what he has to do.

  
A soldier carrying out his orders; duty and loyalty above all–

  
–he feels the brush of fur again, this time, against his right cheek and he blinks, surprised by the touch. Glancing to his side, he sees Greece holding the calico cat up in one arm. With his other hand, he has the cat’s paw gently pressed against the side of Japan’s face.

  
“Greece-san…?” Japan begins, the slight blush across his features betraying his mild embarrassment at having Greece so close to him now.

  
Caught off-guard by the moment, Japan feels the tickle of fur and whiskers against him, and soon enough the calico cat scrambles over his shoulders, claws grasping at his uniform for hold.

  
He hears Greece’s soft chuckle as the cat purrs more and nuzzles against him. “Japan needs to remember to smile more… I’ve always liked seeing it.”

  
At his words, Japan feels his cheeks colour again.

  
Greece is prone to saying things like that, to being openly affectionate and warm, even though Japan feels undeserving of it. Even so, he feels his lips curve upwards slightly at the sight of Greece’s smile.

  
He lets the cat nuzzle him a while longer, before setting her down on the ground again and slowly straightens up.

  
“Leaving already?” Greece asks, stroking the calico under the chin.

  
“I don’t wish to be staying past my due.”

  
“I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than I should,” Greece tilts his head sideways, “Until next we meet then.”

  
Japan frowns. “You speak as if there will be another time.”

  
Greece does not reply to that, his gaze still transfixed on the bright blue sea before him.

  
Japan sighs then, and excusing himself politely, takes his leave. As he walks away, he wonders what he is doing.

 

~.*.~

 

**iii.**

  
_Like the warriors of old, the samurai._

  
Kiku watches as the men march on, watches as the women – daughters, sister, and mothers alike – raise their hands, the branches of withering blossoms held out in their palms in farewell.

  
"Say goodbye to Kiyoshi, he's going to serve the country.”

  
“Do your best, Brother!”

  
“ _Hai._ I will make you all proud.”

  
“Oh, oh, I made this doll for you! Think of this doll as me, and she will look out for you so that you won’t feel lonely when you’re far away. So, please look after her too, ne?”

  
One of the girls raises her hands to pass a small handmade doll – sewn together from pieces of patchwork cloth – to the youth standing before her.

  
“Ahh, I promise I will. Thank you.”

  
The youth carefully tucks the doll away under his jacket. He straightens up, and smiling at his sister, pats her affectionately on the head.

  
“Be good a girl and look after Uncle and Auntie for me, okay Sei-chan?"

  
“Mmhh! I will. Goodbye.”

  
“Goodbye.”

  
The girls do not understand; the women stand passive and grim-faced, but silent, not even a single tear shed to mark their sorrow.

  
_Be loyal and uphold your honour,_ _Japan's honour, like how they once did._

  
As he continues to watch the girls hold back their tears, Kiku only feels emptiness gnawing at his heart.

  
_But_ you _killed them_ , he thinks bitterly, _Just like how_ you _are sending these men off now..._

  
When the last line of soldiers have marched on by and rain begins to fall, Japan turns to follow after them, eyes downcast. Then he stops midway in his tracks, hesitating. He stops, stops and turns around, and in a rare display of impulse – _the march can wait, there is time just for this_ – he walks back across to the gathered women and towards the little girl.

  
She stares at him, a rosy tint dusted lightly across her cheeks, eyes wide with surprise as he kneels before her. Smiling shyly, she offers him the small branch of cherry flowers in her hands.

  
Japan returns the smile, even as guilt traces his features and a hundred thousand words of regret rests at the tip of his tongue.

  
“ _Sumimasen_ ,” he says instead as he accepts her flowers, before dipping his head into a bow. “ _Yurushite kudasai_.”

  
Before the girl can reply, he straightens up and walks back towards the soldiers. In his left hand, he grips the cherry branch; in his right, his sword.

  
As the sun continues to ascend amidst the raining cloudbanks – _rise, Nippon, rise and fight_ – they will fly to Okinawa.

  
Tomorrow, they will bring the rain of steel.

  
~.*.~

  
**iv.**

  
On the surface, he is collected, ever the calm and yet commanding military officer – a warrior of old, resolute and relentless. Like a whirlwind breathed to life by the gods, he moves swift and sure, cutting down his enemies mercilessly.

  
But inside, Japan feels sick and confused; his vision clouded with nationalistic pride, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

  
When it all gets too much – when women and children cry in the Marianas, when America’s planes slice through his skies like ominous birds of prey – when the burden gets too heavy, Japan runs. Not from the war front, no – a Japanese soldier never runs from his duties, never.

  
He runs to Europe, to Germany and to Italy; to discuss treaties and alliances, for business – or so he tells others, so he tells himself.

  
It is hypocritical of him, for Nippon to be campaigning a co-prosperity sphere for Asia, when he knowingly fights his own brothers: he drives his sword deep into their bellies, burning down their palaces and cities.

  
It is hypocritical of him, he knows, to be running to Germany and Italy, calling them comrades even though their ways are as foreign and strange as America or Britain–

  
–but no, they are different, they _understand_ ( Do they really? Do _you_ understand, Kiku?)

  
It is hypocritical of him, to be seeking solace from Greece: hadn’t Japan declared he had no need for his friendship, hadn’t Greece decided to break off ties? They were too different, too divided in ambition and belief. Despite whatever kinship they had shared before, Japan sees no future between them now.

  
And yet…

  
Kiku runs, escapes, past the marching soldiers, past the wide-eyes stares of cowering children in the alleys. He continues on, up the grassy hillside until there is only the blazing sun above him and a light breeze ruffling his hair. He tastes the salty tang of the Mediterranean against his lips as he looks out to the blue expanse before him.

  
Greece never questions why Japan chooses to visit his lands, even amidst all the meetings, amidst all the fighting. He seemed content to sit beside Japan, to watch the waves crashing against the shorelines and feel the sun on their skins, to share quiet silences in their conversations.

  
“You look tired.” Greece says. His tone is low, but Japan notices the concern in his voice.

  
“I suppose I could say the same for you,” he replies instead, dancing around the unspoken question.

  
Greece’s lip quirk a little at that. “I guess you can. Things are difficult now…”

  
Japan’s shoulders tense as he thinks of home, of the skirmish in the tropics with Alfred, of burning cities and Yao’s fierce resistance.

  
“Some a little more difficult than others…,” he begins carefully. “China is stubborn.”

  
“I suppose that could be said the same for you too.” Greece muses, turning Japan’s words back on him. Japan feels his jaw twitch at the statement, but he decides to remain silent – there isn’t much he can retort to that anyway, although he’d prefer to call it _resolve_ instead of mere obstinacy.

  
“And America?” At Greece’s question, Japan’s lips thin. He looks away.

  
“He is a monster,” he simply says, frowning. Greece continues to gaze at him, head tilted sideways  and Japan wishes he would stop looking at him like that. Like he knows Japan doesn’t really believe what he says.

  
Greece lets out a quiet laugh then. Japan gazes back at him questioningly.

  
“Is that what your bosses tell you to say?”

  
At those words, Japan flinches. Unable to hold his gaze, he averts his eyes. When he doesn’t reply, he feels Greece carefully approaching, reaching a hand out towards him. Japan is hesitant at first, but he doesn’t draw back. When he feels Greece’s fingers at his cheek, he feels the warmth in every gentle stroke. He can’t help but slowly lean into Greece’s touch.

  
“America may be childish, and sometimes a brute, but even you know he’s not truly a monster.”

  
Japan doesn’t respond still; he doesn’t know how to. So he fixes his gaze to study at the network of veins running along Greece’s hand.

  
“You’re not a monster either, Kiku.” Greece says softly.

  
Japan stiffens in his touch, slowly pulling away. “Perhaps not… but sometimes it feels close enough.”

 

The words slip from him before he can stop himself. He blushes briefly – an old habit, nothing more – as he looks up to meet Greece’s steady gaze.

 

“Regardless, I am what my people need me to be.”

  
“Your people or your bosses?” Greece smiles wryly. Japan finds himself cringing inwardly at the words, his very thought so blatantly laid out like that. He’d almost forgotten how good Greece was at reading him at times. He allows himself a soft chuckle. There is no humour it in.

  
“They have been challenging to work with,” he admits that much, carefully choosing his words, “But a nation is nothing without leaders to direct it.”

  
“A nation is also nothing without its people,” Greece reminds him gently, “And the leaders _should_ listen to its people, not the other way around.”

  
“If the people are lost and do not know what’s good for them, what’s good for their nation, then leaders _need_ to take action.”

  
“And all that at the expense of peoples’ lives and liberties? At the expense of another nation’s sovereignty?”

  
Japan knows there is no spite in Greece’s words; he is not vindictive by nature, except maybe when dealing with Turkey. He is honest and factual, but nevertheless Japan still feels the sting of those words.

  
“Sometimes there is no other choice.”

  
“There’s always a choice. I chose to stay neutral, even though it didn’t stop the war from entering my home. You chose to leave your home and walk down the path of war.” Greece traces a finger gently across a cut on Japan’s left cheek.

  
They hold each others’ gazes for a silent moment – Greece making no pretense at hiding his sadness even as his features held that same tender look; Japan hiding still behind his impassive mask, even as his eyes betrayed the swirl of emotions within.

  
Japan finally drops his gaze, sighing. “I should be going. I apologize for bothering you.”

  
He turns to leave, only to feel a soft tug at his sleeve, and then the warmth of large, callous hands embracing him gently from behind.

  
“Stay,” Greece murmurs into his ear.

  
Japan tightens his jaw, faltering in his steps – restrain, a soldier must always have restrain, must always be in–

  
“Stay,” Greece whispers again, kissing his neck. “Please.”

  
_Restrain_ , Japan thinks desperately, even as he leans back into Greece’s touch. Even as the scent of lavender and spice overwhelms him, clouding his mind, his judgment.

  
He feels his face heat up when their lips finally met.

  
~.*.~

  
**v.**

  
Greece’s touch is soft; his embraces, kind.

  
He neither pushes nor presses Japan for a response, and each touch is one that seeks a gentle approval, never venturing further than what was allowed.

  
Gentle. Patient.

  
He is gentle, but his touch is warm; heat radiates from his skin like the sun. Despite himself, Japan feels himself reacting to every trace and feel of Greece’s fingers over him.

  
Japan is hesitant at first – control, a soldier, a warrior must always be in control. But he is weary, so very weary and Greece is compassionate. Slowly, carefully, he gives in to the emotions – tentative at first, cautious like a cat treading for the first time into water.

  
Greece kisses over him. Over bruises and wounds, over scars, old and new ones from the fighting. And then Japan finally relents. He lets himself be passive, submissive. Layer after layer peel away as he removes the mask, until all that remain is just _Kiku._

  
He may not be the warrior his mother once was, but Greece is still strong – Japan realizes this as he runs his hands over muscle and sinew, over hardened scars from years of fighting and revolts. There is still a proud strength in the way Greece holds him and a determined fire alight in those teal eyes. Japan knows Greece can easily break him and harm him if he so wished to.

  
Even so, there is an unsaid trust between them, hidden within the eaves of their hearts – one that Japan himself can’t explain why or how, but he knows it’s there.

  
(Or perhaps it is sheer desperation that drives him now, Japan isn’t too sure anymore; was he ever?)

  
When their bodies finally connect, Japan arches his back, gasping. He feels Greece’s lips ghost over his shoulders, before moving to plant kisses down to the curve of his spine. As the heat rushes through him, Greece’s breath in his ears, Japan lets the passion surge through him, lets it wash over him, so that he can forget and not think. For now, at least.

  
Perhaps nations, like gods, are not that different from humans, after all.

  
*

  
When Japan awakes, he finds himself alone, the warmth of blankets over him still as he continues to breathe in the scent of an earthy spice, of the lingering tang of sweat and of the night before. After a moment, he finally rolls off the bed and dresses himself slowly. The calico cat watches him inquisitively from the edge of the bed, before sauntering up to him to rub her flanks around his ankles.

  
He smiles softly, before making his way towards the balcony.

  
Greece stands, looking out over the horizon, the Mediterranean stretched out in the wide blue expanse, as far as the eye can see. In his right hand, he holds a cigarette to his lips as he takes a slow drag.

  
Japan slowly approaches to stand beside him. He watches the tiny ships bobbing in the distant seas, accepting the cigarette when it was offered to him.

  
For a moment, there is only silence between them as they shared the cigarette, smoke and ash lingering against the backdrop of unspoken thoughts, of undisclosed desires.

  
“What becomes of us, Herakles?” Kiku asks, voice soft, as if he is almost afraid of breaking the silence; as if he is afraid of the answer. “We can’t keep doing this.”

  
_I can’t keep…_ Japan _can’t keep…_

  
Greece is silent, unmoving save for the periodic rise and fall of his chest as he releases a steady stream of smoke and ash with each breath. Japan wonders if he’d heard his question.

  
“We do what we can,” Greece finally says, putting out the cigarette. “Not solely for glory alone, but for our people. Our people _are_ us, Kiku. So… fight for them. Fight to protect what they cherish, so that they will be able to smile again one day.”

  
He glances over Japan, his features still traced with sadness just like the day before, but his eyes gentle. “So that you will be able to smile again someday.”

  
Japan can’t help but feel a shadow of doubt at those words, can’t help but feel the cynicism twisting within the pits of his belly – that is how it is in the world, isn’t it? Not everyone will be victors in war; there will be no smiles for the ones who are defeated, at least not in a long, long while.

  
But when he meets Greece’s quiet gaze again, when he sees the kindness and concern in those teal eyes, a tiny part of him _wants_ to believe in those words, wants to hold on to some last form of hope, no matter how foolish it sounded now. He thinks it would be almost dishonourable towards those young men so ready to give up their lives for their nation – for Nippon, for _him_ – if he did not at least try.

  
“I will do my best then… ” Japan manages a tiny smile, before dipping his head in a bow, only to feel the warm of Greece’s arms around him as he is drawn into a gentle embrace.

  
“And I will continue to wait for that smile,” Greece murmurs into his ears.

  
“Like Penelope?” Japan says, chuckling faintly into the other man's chest, recalling a story once whispered to him in between sheets and under the cover of dark.  

  
Greece nods. “Twenty, fifty... even a hundred years and more for you. For as long as it takes, Odysseus.”

  
Japan can only blush at that.

  
"… _Antío, kardiá mou_." 

  
“… _Sayōnara_.”

~.*.~

  
**vi.**

  
_My dearest Sei-chan,_

  
_I hope this letter finds you well. I was very happy to read your last letter; I read it over and over each night. It helped make me feel less lonely, so thank you._

  
_However, it is now time for me to say goodbye. You see, I’ve been chosen for this final mission…_

  
( in search of a new land  
let's build a new house  
by neatly gathering hay  
to thatch the roof )

_You remember that doll you gave to me? I take good care of her all the time. The other soldiers have similar dolls too, but while they usually keep the dolls hanging from their belts, I always made sure to carry yours on my back. I didn’t want the doll to feel lonely and scared when I had to fly the plane. Besides, the doll always reminded me of Sei-chan and home…_

 

( by neatly gathering hay  
to thatch the roof  
at the stone walls  
let's celebrate the golden house )

_Haha, I’m sorry. I was feeling a little nostalgia there._

  
_I have deposited my bankbook and stamp under your name, and I will also send you my watch and sword. Please use them so you can sell them for money for school. Your future is more important than any of my mementos._

  
_Aahh! The propeller is rolling – I … I have to go now._

 

( and then the gods descend unto earth;  
to walk, to fight among us  
but the Eagle has awoken, wings stretched far  
and we hesitated; resistant yet uncertain )

 

_Please don’t cry, Sei-chan. I’m really sorry to leave you all alone. I hope you will forgive me. Remember, your brother loves you very much. I wish you good luck!_

  
_Well then._

  
_Goodbye._

_  
_

( _pika-don, pika pika-don_  
the cherry tree weeps,  
as the fire burns and black rain falls  
from the sea we arose  
and to ashes we return. )

 

_Goodbye forever._

 

~.*.~

  
**vii.**

  
The man, he doesn’t flinch.

  
He doesn’t flinch, walking through scattered debris and white-hot flames,

  
a city in ruins; burning, crackling, fading

  
Fire, flash-fire

  
And then the smoke rises; his children weep

  
He flinches,

  
He falls,

  
Fire, flash-bang

  
He burns,

  
And then, there were only cinders,

  
Fading ashes.

 

  
~.*.~

 

**viii.**

 

The streets of Shibuya district are always bustling with activity – a vibrant steady beat of life, a whimsical blend of the contemporary and culture, a shrine devoted to consumerism. Here and there, salarymen and career women; boy and girls in uniforms, walking – always walking. Like the tide, a human tide that ebbs and flows, a sea of people.

  
Japan walks down the path before him, the heels of his shoes crunching softly over withered leaves littered along the sidewalk. The sky overhead is a brilliant sunset gold, marred only by occasional pinkish, puffy clouds, streaming steadily across the orange canvas like tiny air-ships. Beside him, a small white dog lets out a yip. He stirs from his musings, and glances down at the dog, his lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles.

  
Pochi does not go out often; he usually prefers to stay at home, waiting patiently by the door for Japan’s return. Sometimes , like today, Japan brings him out for walks. It’s refreshing, and Japan knows Pochi enjoys it, even though like his master, the dog is mostly reserved, cautious of his surroundings. But he is learning, just like how Kiku is learning, to understand the surroundings; to understand this strange new world of brightly-lit signboards and business suits and Smartphones. Of comic books and pop-music, of robots and bullet trains.

  
Pochi wags his tail, a pink tongue swiping over a black button nose. He yips again before he stops midway in his tracks, his fur twitching excitedly, his ears pricked forwards. 

  
“Aahh–” Japan begins, only to have the dog abruptly dash forward, streaking down the path between many black touser-clad legs and chasing leaves into the air. “Pochi!”

  
Kiku jogs after the dog, murmuring a string of apologies as he squeezes past brushing shoulders, dipping his head modestly. He can see the bob of Pochi’s head as the dog reaches the bronze statue just outside the station exit, tail wagging with renewed fervour.

  
Japan approaches, trying to catch his breath. He is about to berate the dog of his over-enthusiasm at first, to scold him lightly for bothering a man standing by the statue now; a man whose tan slacks were slightly stained from dirt and grass-streaks because Pochi was jumping up at him excitedly … _what_ has gotten into that dog, really?

  
Japan lifts his gaze from Pochi to travel up those long legs and torso, to finally meet olive skin and teal eyes.

  
He starts; stops and stares, unblinking.

  
_And I will continue to wait for that smile._ _Twenty, fifty... even a hundred years and more for you._

  
Like Penelope.

  
Like Hachiko–

  
“ _Iapo̱nía_.” Greece smiles at him then, eyes crinkling at the corners (just like how he remembers it).

  
“ _Girisha-san_.” Japan finally manages, his initial surprise now replaced with something else; a tender emotion within he can’t quite explain (or perhaps just one he will not admit to as yet). Then he recalls himself, recalls his manners and offers a polite bow, a genuine smile now painted across his features.

  
“It’s been a long time.”

  
“Ah, it has."

  
“Will you… show me around Tokyo? I would love to see more of your home.”

  
“I would be honoured to.”

  
It has been a long time, and there is still much Kiku is unsure of in this strange, new world; much for him to learn and to understand.

  
But as it is with stories, they never truly end; each turn of a page will lead him to another story, lead him to discover and rediscover–

  
Just as how the sun sets every evening, and always rises again the next day.

  
Japan will move forward and–

  
–and Kiku continues to smile.

  
~.*.~

 

“I speak of the old Japan, because out of  
the ashes of the old Japan  
there has risen a new Japan.”

**_–Shigeru Yoshida–_  
**

  
**  
_–owari_ ** **_–_  
**

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Gaikokujin – foreigner, non-Japanese  
> Sayōnara – goodbye/farewell; usually only used when you will not be seeing the person for a very long time, or for someone you will never meet again.  
> Sumimasen – I’m very sorry  
> Yurushite kudasai – Please forgive me  
> Antío, kardiá mou – Farewell, my heart. "My heart" is a term of endearment in Greek.  
> Some historical/cultural notes:
> 
> The tengu and kitsune are both mythological creatures commonly found in Japanese folktales. Tengu are depicted as mountain guardians, skilled in martial arts and are shown to punish arrogant warriors. The kitsune is usually associated with trickery and will wear human forms to hide its true nature.
> 
> Greece and Japan first established diplomatic relations in 1899, and since then they have enjoyed a close and beneficial relationship, the only hiccup being during WWII. Greece broke diplomatic ties with Japan in December 1941. No official reason was given.
> 
> The Battle of Saipan was fought on the island of Saipan in the Mariana Islands, which resulted in a high number of civilian casualties.
> 
> The bombing of Tokyo, often referred to as a "firebombing", was conducted as part of the air raids on Japan by US Forces. It was estimated to be the single most destructive bombing raid in history.
> 
> The Battle of Okinawa was also known as tetsu no ame ("rain of steel") in Japanese, referring to the ferocity of the fighting, the intensity of kamikaze attacks, and to the sheer numbers of Allied ships and armored vehicles that assaulted the island. It resulted in the highest number of casualties in the Pacific Theater during WWII.
> 
> Corporal Kiyoshi Oishi and his sister Shizue (affectionately known as ‘Sei-chan’) were both real people. They lost their parents during the war, and when Kiyoshi was drafted into the army, Shizue was adopted by their uncle. The scene in Part VI is based on the letters Kiyoshi wrote to his sister.
> 
> The Hachiko train exit in Shibuya is a popular date/meeting spot. There is a bronze statue of an Akita erected just outside the exit, in memory to the dog Hachiko.
> 
> Music spam:-  
> Inspiration for Parts II and III were based off: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbwmfvGv2dI  
> Part VI and VII were partially inspired by this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPBKwHZ5-pw  
> Apparently it’s a traditional Okinawan folk song about loss of loved ones and hope and of finding new hope.


End file.
